


Foam Alone

by vonderbarr



Series: Foam Sweet Foam [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dubious Consent, Inventions gone wrong, M/M, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Size Difference, Spanking, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, bondage of a sort, he's stuck to his lab table, so he can't see or hear or move
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonderbarr/pseuds/vonderbarr
Summary: The Foam Bomb was supposed to be the perfect crowd-control solution: fast, non-lethal, effective, and, of course, quick-setting. Wheeljack finds out just how effective his foam mixture is when the prototype blows up in his face and he finds himself stuck fast to his lab table unable to see, hear, or move. Fortunately, someone has noticed his predicament. Unfortunately, that someone seems to have things on their mind other than rescue.
Relationships: Wheeljack/Unknown Mech
Series: Foam Sweet Foam [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952842
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Foam Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the TFanonKinkMeme.

The foam bomb was originally designed as a crowd control method. Fired into a mob it would explode and cover rioters with high-density foam, scattering and slowing the crowd. With the start of the war it was soon drafted into service for use in areas with high civilian populations. However, as the war progressed, it soon fell out of favor along with other non-lethal weaponry.

After the incident with the Immobilizer, however, Wheeljack found himself still intrigued with the idea of a weapon that would leave its victim disabled but unharmed. After some research he decided that the foam bomb could be altered to this purpose. By increasing the density of the foam and rigging a quick-dry mixture he could conceivably create a bomb that would cover its target with a foam that would harden and prevent movement until a solvent could be applied. 

He found out just how effective his foam mixture was when the prototype blew up in his face.

The blast must have knocked him offline because the next thing he knew he was stuck to his lab table. If he hadn’t been knocked out he could at least have gotten stuck in a dignified position, maybe even one that would let him call for help. As it was he was stuck bent over his lab table at a just about 90-degree angle. His chest, arms, and helm were held fast, the foam covering his optics and blocking his audios.

Giving a few hard jerks he found that he was well and truly stuck. Panicking a little he tried to pull himself backwards out of the foam, but only ended up kicking over his bench and pulling something in his side. He dimly registered the sound of the metal bench hitting the floor, so he knew that not all of his hearing was gone. To top it all off his comm. link had been disabled by the blast.

After a few more experimental pulls, he gave up on trying to pull himself free and concentrated on keeping himself occupied until someone came looking for him. First he played around with trying to get his bench back upright so he could change his position a bit and avoid getting too sore. Finally finding success in that he started going through a mental to-do list for after he was freed, hoping that maybe the foam would degrade with time and that he could simply wait it out.

Hours later he was reduced to trying to remember the proper names of the castaways from “Gilligan’s Island.”

“There’s Gilligan, obviously, then Ginger’s the movie star, Mary Anne, Thurston Howell III, his wife was Lovey, what the hell was the professor’s name? Dr…I wanna say Richard. Dr. Richard Something? Howell? No, that’s the millionaire-”

He stopped abruptly.

The door had opened.

Jumping into action, he shouted for help and thrashed around a bit in case his need for help wasn’t perfectly apparent. He managed to knock over his bench again before his rescuer stilled him with a hand on his back. Settling down he heard a muffled voice and tried to indicate he couldn’t understand it; he couldn’t even recognize it, but the tone was comforting.

The hands moved along his back, mapping out the borders of the foam. He couldn’t help shivering as they trailed along the exposed parts of his wings. He inferred his rescuer must have been a large mech to trace the visible parts of his helm without ending up on top of him. Even though they weren’t touching he could still feel the other’s presence hovering above him.

It was strange not being able to see the mech helping him. He was sure that he knew the mech, they were probably friends. It could even be one of his Dinobots, come to ask for his help with something. He smiled a little at that. With his limited senses he tried estimating the size of the mech to narrow down his identity. He was certainly much larger than Wheeljack, but the inventor was on the small side so that didn’t eliminate many mechs.

Those hands teasing the edges of the foam at his waist pulled him abruptly from his musings. It occurred to him that this was starting to get inappropriate. His “rescuer” was still putting up a front of helping him by testing the strength of the foam, but his hands were beginning to wander. Another shiver went through him as strong fingers traced the edges of his abdominal plating.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re doin’, but if you just get me out of this I swear that I will give you the interface of your life. Stop that! Look, just get me out of this stuff, and I’ll do whatever you want. What _ ever _ you want. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m trying to whore myself out to a guy that can’t even hear me. I can’t be the only one shit like this happens to. Ah! Cu-cut that out!”

He couldn’t see or move, and couldn’t pull away from those hands that were getting bolder in their travels. In that fuzzy voice that had sounded so comforting he could now detect something darker, hotter. A shock of fear rolled through him, but it was also exciting somehow. That sense of chaos, of not being in control, it made his spark race. For a moment, though, he let his fear take him and he struggled against both his captors. The other mech just grabbed his hips and held him still.

Now it was definitely inappropriate. A hand slid from his hip to press down along the length of his thigh, fingers curling to stroke and tease on the way back up. The fingers of the other hand slid along the seam between thigh and hip plate and over to trace the angles of his aft. He was starting to heat up, and Wheeljack had never been so thankful that his main vents were unobstructed.

The hand on his aft slid down to trace the edges of his interface panel and Wheeljack moaned, the flashing of his exposed vocal indicator the only outward sign of the utterance. He still wasn’t ready to open up, though. He wasn’t  _ that _ easy. Pulling his legs together he twisted his hips hoping to look coquettish, but his frame and position couldn’t quite pull it off.

The other mech was talking again, and he heard a vocalization that had to be laughter. He briefly wondered if he should be offended, but he decided it was a moot point when the mech’s hands firmly ran the length of his wings. The appendages weren’t terribly sensitive, but those hands quickly found and exploited their hotspots. Slipping a digit into the gaps where his wings connect to his chassis rewarded the other mech with a bright flash from his exposed vocal indicator as Wheeljack keened.

Arching his back his aft managed to meet the other’s pelvic armor with a “clang!” that even he heard. He hadn’t realized they were so close. He could feel the heat of the mech’s armor, those hands quickly gliding back to his hips, and the firm press of pelvic armor against his aft. All too soon, though, that wonderful heat and pressure dispersed as the other mech stepped away.

“Oh come  _ on _ .”

Wheeljack heard the metal on metal of the bench being righted, and felt the bench tap against his legs. The other mech helped him onto the bench, hands gently stroking his thighs and lower back as he settled. He was certainly higher off of the ground now, his arched back and spread legs giving his mystery mech a nice view as well as easy access.

“Oh, h-height difference. Gotcha. I guess you’re bigger than I thought. Uh, you should probably know that I don’t really do this sort of thing…often. I mean, I’m not some sort of slut or anything. Like you can hear anything I’m sayin’ but anyway I just-Ah! What the fuck?”

Did he just get hit? Did this mech just  _ hit _ him?

Surprised into silence he stared wide-opticed into foam induced darkness. This mech had just hit him, had slapped him right on the aft. Well, that was  _ different _ . It didn’t hurt, not really, and what probably should have been pain was being translated by his overheated processor into more pleasure stimuli.

He gasped as the hand smacked his aft again, moaned as the large palm smoothed over the heated metal. This rough foreplay, it just wasn’t something Autobots  _ did _ . Traditionally, Autobot interfacing was gentle, and many bots genuinely believed that rough interfacing was something to be left to the Decepticons. More than once Wheeljack had had a lover that balked when he demanded that they do it “Harder! Faster! Harder, dammit!”

This, he liked, and only felt a little bit like it was something he really shouldn’t be doing. He knew that in Earth culture spanking was reserved as punishment for naughty children, and since arriving on Earth Ratchet had more than once threatened to take him over his knee when he had done something really stupid. Wheeljack was starting to think he’d have to make the medic put his money where his mouth is the next time he makes that particular threat.

He cried out as the other mech spanked him again. There was a warm tingling following every strike, followed by gentle strokes of strong fingers soothing the area, then the feeling of cool air before another sharp slap. A punishment for bad children, he almost laughed, but, he supposed, he  _ had _ been bad. Getting himself stuck like this was a very naughty thing to do. Oh yes, he’d been very, very bad.

Hearing the other mech’s voice he imagined him to be saying just that. Telling him how bad he’d been. Such a bad, bad mech. Such an irresponsible thing for the chief engineer to do. He really deserved to be punished. Wheeljack had never wanted to hear another mech’s voice so much.

A few more slaps and the mech’s hand moved lower to trace his interface panel leaving his aft hot with friction and arousal. Lubricant had begun to leak through the borders of his panel, and the mech’s fingers slipped easily along the seams. This time the other mech barely had to touch him before Wheeljack retracted his panel. All he wanted now was that big mech’s big cord inside him. His valve was practically aching for it.

His own cord was out and fully pressurized. He let out a deep, appreciative moan as the mech traced his length with one hand while simultaneously slipping a finger into his valve. The finger was soon joined by another, and it felt good, but he wanted more, deeper. He bucked into the mech’s hand trying to tell him to just get on with it.

As if reading his thoughts he felt the other mech move into position behind him. He keened with need when he felt the tip of the mech’s cord against his valve. Then the mech pushed forward, gripping his waist strongly, and began to enter him. And he was big. Very big. The mech gave a few gentle, experimental thrusts, entering him a little more each time. The position he was in only served to make his valve shorter and tighter and it took several thrusts to finally be fully inside the inventor.

With the mech inside him he finally felt that this was really happening. This mech wasn’t just some disembodied hands with the hint of a body connected. Wheeljack could feel well-built hips against his own, thick thighs against his slim ones, those hands connected to equally strong arms, and that big, thick, wonderful cord inside him.

The first few proper thrusts hurt. It wasn’t bad, really, it was just that the other mech was too big, or maybe it was that Wheeljack was too small. They just didn’t fit together quite right. Of course Wheeljack would have none of that, he was going to make sure this was as good as his processor had built it up to be. He tried to push himself upwards and change the angle of penetration. The other mech caught on and simply grabbed his hips and lifted him almost off the bench.

Between the foam trapping him and the mech holding him up Wheeljack could do little more than just hang on for the ride. Now that the angle was right the mech’s thrusts sped up and had more force behind them. His visible vocal indicator flashed intensely as the dirtiest things found their way from his vocalizer.

“Yes! Please…more…oh fuck! Oh, you fuck me so good…so good. Ooh!”

He heard the other mech’s voice faintly and imagined the equally filthy things he’d say: how tight he was, how hot and wet, how he’d wanted him, how good it felt.

Without his senses and with this mech completely in control all Wheeljack could do was focus on the feeling of that big, hard cord inside his valve. It just felt so good to be really and properly  _ fucked. _ His fingers clawed into the foam as he felt his overload approach. The fierce thrusts quickened and became jerky and he knew that the other mech was close as well.

He felt a hand, one of those wonderful big, strong hands, wrap around his cord and stroke. That was all he needed. He tensed, clawing his hands into the foam and feeling every inch of that thick cord inside his valve, and screamed as his transfluid spilled onto the floor. Moments later the other mech gave one last forceful thrust and overloaded inside him, shouting something.

Wheeljack fought against offlining. He hadn’t refueled since morning and he was never fully recharged and then this mech…It was all too much. He let out a small whine as the mech withdrew and set his knees gently back onto the bench. He could feel lubricant and transfluid slip out of his valve to dry on his thighs. Sagging slightly to one side he felt the other mech sit next to him.

That voice was going again, but now it sounded gentler, almost demure. Those hands were working again, sliding a cloth or bit of rag between his legs, carefully cleaning his shaking thighs. He flinched a bit as the mech gently dabbed at his valve, wiping away what fluid he could without hurting the smaller mech. After he closed his panel the other mech ran the cloth over his aft, trying to make him look presentable despite the scratches and paint transfer.

He’d laugh if it wasn’t so sweet. Strange, yes, but sweet, too. He was still trapped in the foam and this mech’s first order of business was to clean him up? Well, it was pretty adorable in Wheeljack’s opinion. He wished he could tell him where the bottle of foam solvent is. If he wants to clean him so damn bad he could help him get the foam off and then they could have a grand old time.

The mech was sitting beside him again, saying something. He wished he could hear him properly, wished he could see him, wished he knew who the hell he was. A hand ran affectionately over his wings and he felt the mech’s weight leave the bench. There was a weird, hollow echo in his little prison as the other mech knocked on the foam. The foam was completely unmoved by the whole of events, and was still holding strong and firm.

His vocal indicators flashed dimly as he vented a tired sigh. He just wanted to get loose, refuel, recharge, and spend some proper time with this mech. Not necessarily in that order, either. Well, except the get loose part. That part definitely came first. Must get free from the foam and never, never work on the prototype while it’s loaded. That was a stupid move in the first place.

He was abruptly pulled from his musings by a strange sensation on his back. It was the other mech, of course. He had given him a little kiss. A kiss right between his wings.

Wheeljack blushed, a thread of embarrassment winding its way around his spark at that odd little sentimental gesture. He was going to just go ahead and vocalize this as well as some odd little sentimental things of his own when he heard the mech walking away.

Then he heard the door open.

Then the door closed.

The mech was gone.

“Well, fuck!”

This shit  _ always _ happened to him.

***

His processor was going a mile a minute. The mech had gone, and he was still stuck in the foam. He’d gone. He’d left him trapped. Wheeljack didn’t know whether to be furious or start crying. He’d been _taken advantage_ _of_ …he guessed. The interfacing had been, well, it had been great. Really great. Best ‘face in years. He was just pissed about still being stuck in his Primus-damned foam.

So, really, he was right back where he started. Albeit a lot more exhausted, and more than a little sore. The foam’s integrity seemed about the same despite the heat and time passed. So much for waiting it out. He had managed to scratch some troughs into the foam around his fingers during his overload. Maybe if he kept at it he could get his hand free, maybe get a hold of a tool on the table. He cycled a sigh through his intakes. This was going to take forever.

He started scratching at the foam, picking and clawing where he guessed the foam was thinnest. He figured he had some time to think. Just who was that mech? Ok, he could eliminate all of the mechs his size or smaller. Probably all the mechs that were just a little bigger than him, too. The smaller frontliner mechs like the twins wouldn’t have to pull him up off of the bench to get that angle. So that eliminates most of the crew really.

“Wait, shit. The  _ Dinobots _ . Oh Primus, no.”

Any one of the Dinobots would be big enough and any one of them would have plenty of reason to visit his lab.

“Oh shit, that would be so awkward. Like, really awkward.” The Dinobots were practically his sparklings. There wasn’t a lot that Wheeljack found morally questionable, but that seemed, well,  _ wrong _ .

“Please don’t have been one of the Dinobots. Please, please, please. Alright, deep breath. There’s still lots of other bots it coulda been. Bots like, um…Inferno, or Grapple. They’re both pretty damn big, but both highly unlikely. Ok, ok, big mechs, big mechs…well, there’s Optimus.” He laughed “Yeah, that’ll happen.”

It went on like that for a while. Naming off mechs and eliminating them just as quickly, and all the while scratching at that damn foam. His fingers were starting to really hurt, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, a Decepticon had gotten into the base, broken into his lab, and fucked him before escaping.

It made sense in a way. The last time he had had an interface like that was before the war, and, well, that mech was a Decepticon now. But what Decepticon could break into the Ark, do whatever he was there to do, and interface him? Better question: What Decepticon would take the time for foreplay, clean him up afterwards, and give him that sweet little kiss?

As unlikely as it was he really hoped that last scenario wasn’t true. That would make everything so very complicated. Even more complicated than it was already. Or maybe it would be less complicated. He didn't know. He couldn’t think clearly. His energy levels were starting to go into the red, and he’d have to offline soon if he wanted any hope of saving his strength to get out of his mess.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

The door opened.

He checked his chronometer and was surprised to find that only a few breems had passed since the mech left. It felt like so much longer. He briefly noted that he should work on his time management. But it hadn’t been that long at all! Maybe the mech had come back, and even if he hadn't, Wheeljack was sure he’d be rescued soon. He’d better be.

It soon became clear that it wasn’t the same mech in the room. The footsteps that he could make out seemed lighter than the other mech’s had been. This new mech certainly seemed more professional than the last one, going immediately to the table and testing the foam. Wheeljack heard the echo from a few experimental knocks on the foam around his helm. Then he heard the rather terrifying sound of a cutting tool firing up way too close to his audios.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Whoa! Don’t-you-oh, jeez, just don’t cut my face off.”

The mech was good with a blade, at least, and soon Wheeljack was squinting his optics at his honest to goodness rescuer. 

“Hoist?”

“Wheeljack, dear boy, are you alright?”

“Uh, no. Not really. Kinda stuck to my lab table here.”

“Yes, I noticed that. I do hope you have a solvent developed. I’d rather not spend all day cutting through this…what  _ is _ this?”

“Foam. Workin’ on a non-lethal restraining kinda thing. Solvent’s on the shelf.”

“Well it certainly appears to be working. Is this it? The beaker marked ‘fuom sorrimt’?”

“Yes, and it says ‘foam solvent.’”

“No, no it doesn’t. Letters don’t work that way.”

“Ha ha ha, look I have had a really long day, would you please just put some of that stuff on a rag or something and apply it to the foam? It should dissolve right off. Don’t  _ even _ give me that look. This stuff actually works. Percy and I tested it and everything.”

“Alright, alright.” Hoist said, soaking a cloth in the beaker before applying it cautiously to the general area of Wheeljack’s arm. Hoist smiled behind his mask as the foam began to bubble and disintegrate. “You’re just lucky that Ratchet refuses to answer the medbay comm. link. I’d hate to see the reception this little escapade would receive.”

“Eh, I’ve done worse.”

“He’d probably just leave you here.” Hoist laughed lightly as he continued to apply the solvent.

That gave him pause. Now that he thought about it, this was the sort of thing Ratchet might do. It was a little wilder than Ratchet usually got, but it could have been him…maybe. Maybe not, though. He and Ratchet had ‘faced before, and it didn’t really feel like him…but it had been awhile. He extended his right arm as it was finally freed, wincing as he stretched the cables.

“So where is Ratchet?” 

“Oh, he’s locked himself in his office. Determined to finally finish updating medical files. He’s hoping to get it all done  _ before _ Prowl comes down to remind him personally.” 

“Ugh, I hate that. Prowl’s such a jerk.” 

“Oh he’s alright. You’re just cranky because you’re stuck to a table.” 

“True enough.” Wheeljack said, rolling his shoulder. “So, uh, you got a comm. that I’d gotten myself in a mess?” 

“Yes, a message came in on the medbay comm. link and I got here as soon as I could.” Hoist paused “I hope you haven’t been stuck here too long. Goodness, what am I thinking? I should have run a scan first thing. Are you in any pain?”

“Hoist-”

“Like you would say anything if you were. Honestly, you have one of the highest pain tolerances I’ve ever seen.”

“Hoist, I’m fi-”

“But I suppose you can’t be too terribly hurt if you’re still online. Of course I’ve seen you stay online with half your limbs gone so that isn’t really saying much.”

“Hoist!”

“Yes?” he asked, briefly stopping his scan

“You’ve been spendin’ too much time with Grapple. The monologuing is starting to rub off.”

“Wheeljack, you are hardly in a position to judge eccentricities.” He said, narrowing his optics in mock annoyance. There was a beep as he finished the scan. “Hm. Well, aside from dangerously low energy levels, you’re barely damaged at all. Very, very lucky, really, considering how long you’ve been here. Well then, here is the plan: you’re going to drink this,” he said, taking an emergency ration out of his subspace “then we’re going to get you unstuck, then to the medbay, probably get you another ration, then to the washracks, then I want you to  _ fully _ recharge. Don’t give me that look, young mech, these sorts of things wouldn’t happen nearly as often if you had a full recharge cycle once in a while.”

Hoist was right, of course, but couldn’t he find a better way of putting it? His delivery was just so  _ parental _ . It didn’t help that Hoist was naturally protective of minibots, younglings, and the other sciencebots (he’d practically adopted Perceptor.) Everyone openly feared Ratchet’s temper, but Hoist’s guilt trips could be even more devastating. Luckily, Wheeljack was immune. Mostly. 

“Yes, sir.” He tried to reach for the cube, but his shoulder was still half covered in foam and he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach his mouth. “Little help?” he said, casting a rather pathetic look up at Hoist.

“Oh, of course. So sorry!” Hoist said as he manually retracted Wheeljack’s mask and held the cube to his lips.

His need for energy almost outweighed the embarrassment of having to be fed. Almost. He’d never live it down if anyone saw this, but they both knew he needed it if he was going to stay online long enough for Hoist to get him loose.

**Author's Note:**

> The second part reveals the identity of the mystery mech, so if you want to be surprised don't look at the pairing when you click over.
> 
> Come visit me and my unrelated interests on tumblr at [vonderbarr](https://vonderbarr.tumblr.com/)


End file.
